


New age philosophy for broken winged beings

by fish_wifey



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Disability, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Eagle shapeshifters, M/M, Tendou Semi and Oohira are mentioned, Ushijima can't cook (but he tries), Wingfic, Wings, minor worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-23
Updated: 2016-12-23
Packaged: 2018-09-11 10:15:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8975494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fish_wifey/pseuds/fish_wifey
Summary: *If Tsutomu learned one thing from his grandmother, it was to never let one's fears hold them down to earth. Wakatoshi couldn't help those who weren't as strong as him, but he makes an exception for Tsutomu. Love is what grounds him, and love will be what heals them both.*





	

**Author's Note:**

> I was immediately inspired by a friend's [super gorgeous sky pictures](http://taniushka12.tumblr.com/post/153011840550/highlights-of-todays-sky). I often look at images and instantly have a scene in mind. When I saw these images, I thought of Goshiki looking at them and having broken wings which were healing. 
> 
>  
> 
> And yes that title is totally overboard and I really wanted something long www also, Ushijima being incapable of cooking but watching cooking shows and still trying... bless him.

It’s a hard thing to not answer the call from home. Sitting on a carpet he found on sale, Tsutomu’s perches on top of the flat’s roof. He’s surrounded by machinery; satellite dishes, electricity poles reaching up high, broken things previous inhabitants collected and left. A roof over his head has never been his home. When Tsutomu stares at the evening sunset reflecting golden bronze and pink on the grey clouds, his shoulder blades itch. Following comes the pain, both physical and emotional, to be unable to spread his wings.

Sighing, he rotates the can in his hand, and takes a the last swig out of it. A calming breeze caress his skin. It’s a weak substitution of the biting wind he remembers, when he dived through the air at a reckless speed. Too young to mind the dangers, too blind to see the enclosing earth below. Tsutomu can’t bear the thoughts of his last flight, and crushes the can in his hand. 

Not giving the sky a last, longing glance, he hops off the edge of the roof and onto his apartment’s tiny balcony. More broken things await him here, ready to be dropped off next Thursday when it’s trash day. He closes the glass door behind him, and draws the curtains. The room, functioning as living and sleeping quarter, darkens in an instant. Tsutomu’s dark brown eyes, which have lost the light brown hints that would turn gold in the evening sky, survey the room until he can see again. Kicking his backpack aside, he finds the table, and plops down to sit. 

A deep sigh leaves him when he rests his head on the tabletop. The remote is close by, and the distraction would do him good. Keep his mind of darker thoughts. His bangs slide over his eyebrows, both in need of a trim. Shoulders heavy, Tsutomu’s rests for a quiet while, until the heaviness subsides. 

Then he turns on the TV, and watches the evening news. They’re predicting heavy showers and a sudden thunderstorm. It has been his pride and joy to fly into the skies when they were in their most dangerous form. 

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

Wakatoshi enters the apartment without trying to be silent. He stubs his toe once and curses, then flickers on the light. Eyes on a sleeping Tsutomu, he finds a smaller light in the kitchen area, then switches off the bigger light in their living room. Setting aside groceries and a new frying pan, Wakatoshi enters the living space and finds a fresh plaid. Folding it out and spreading it wide, he walks to where Tsutomu sits sleeping at the table, and covers him. His hand hovers over the shiny black hair, but Wakatoshi hesitates to touch it. He might wake up Tsutomu. Instead, he switches channels and finds a cooking show, then returns to the kitchen.

Cooking is a returning nightmare. As much as Wakatoshi tries to be good at it, he wrecks whatever he’s cooking most of the times, alongside parts of the kitchen or tools used in the process. Satori had offered to help multiple times, but the cleaning that had to be done afterwards wasn’t worth the meal. Resolute, Wakatoshi produces a page copied from a medicinal book for winged creatures, and listens to the background noise of the human cooking show. 

Getting to work, he makes sure his noise is always below the TV’s, as it has brought Tsutomu to sleep and would probably keep him that way. Sleep hasn’t come easy to Tsutomu in the pasts months, and he was plagued by nightmares of falling and hurting whenever he was able to do catch a shut-eye. The only time Tsutomu would rest at least seven hours without trouble was when they engaged in sexual activities. As much as Wakatoshi enjoyed the occasion (and knowing Tsutomu shared the view), he didn’t want to exhaust him all the time. Their appetite was easily stilled a few times a week, but they both enjoyed each other’s presence more when they could cuddle and watch nonsense.

_”And now for flavour! Add a pinch of salt and kurkuma to the rice-”_

Fingers capture the two bottles of white and yellow, and looking over his shoulder to watch the TV person do it, Wakatoshi bounces the spices over the rice. Looking to his own creation, he finds the rice yellowed, and the smell of salt reaches his nostrils. He has no idea what a ‘pinch’ means outside of volleyball situations, and guessed it meant a certain amount of heaviness to any sort of situation. Just for good measure, he adds more salt and kurkuma, not able to taste a difference. 

_”Stir carefully-”_ Power unbalanced, Wakatoshi’s hand gives the pot a firm stir, almost making it topple over the counter. Alarmed, he catches the handle and puts it back on the heat source, turning it down to make the simmer less noisy. Checking on Tsutomu, he’s glad to find him vast asleep. Returning his gaze to the cooking show, he finds them putting a lid on top of the saucepan. Wakatoshi opens every cabinet to find one alike to fit on top of his own, but alas; not a single lid befitting the pan. The bigger ones aren’t staying put, and so he takes a plastic chopping board instead. 

In the meantime, the show has moved on to chopping vegetables. Glad to have more than one chopping board, Wakatoshi quickly takes out big knives to do the same. They’re not the same as on the show, but he’s sure the difference between spinach and kale is a minimum. The page he copied mentions a certain amount of minerals. Not busying himself with the correct amount, Wakatoshi adds in extra potassium tablets. Given that it might change the taste of the food too fiercely, he looks for other green, dried herbs they have at home. 

Not knowing what any of them can add in terms of a favourable flavour, Wakatoshi produces his phone out of his bag and calls Eita. Thyme seems to work well on meat, which Wakatoshi didn’t buy. Ending the call without asking about it, he upends half the bottle over the fresh greens, then puts all the chopped and herbed vegetables into the new frying pan. He adds butter at the side, listening to it cook. Then he eyes the one liter of milk he bought, Reon’s words of ‘for the bones’ ringing through his head as he empties the entire carton among the vegetables. At last he puts a lid on top, as seen in the cooking show. 

From the table, few waking noises make it from under the plaid Wakatoshi put over Tsutomu’s head. He meant to shield Tsutomu’s eyes from the light and keep him from waking too soon. His efforts are gone to naught when Tsutomu wakes up screaming and flailing about, captured in the plaid, and unable to make his head come out.

“Tsutomu. Tsutomu, stop.” Wakatoshi kneels next to him, untangling the boy from the plaid. Tsutomu’s natural black iris is surrounded by a blur of reddish yellow, and his breathing is too harsh for his lungs to get any oxygen. He’s still fighting whatever it is he’s afraid off, and Wakatoshi’s arms have to surround him and gather him by means of calming him down. 

“Shh, it’s me. You’re at home. Nothing’s after you.” Wakatoshi whispers into Tsutomu’s hot hear, kissing the top and holding the boy’s head against close. He caresses the silky black bob of hair, until Tsutomu regains a full conscious of where he is, and slows his breathing. “I didn’t want to wake you up. I’m so sorry, Tsutomu.”

“Nhhg, I’m fine.” Tsutomu says, unconvincing. “What’s that smell?”

“I’m cooking.” Wakatoshi says, not taking his head away from where it rests against Tsutomu. His hand moves underneath the plaid, rubbing the lower end of the spine without trespassing the barriers of Tsutomu’s pants greeting him there. “My aunt’s bookshop had this old book full of aids against the illnesses of our kind. It’s quite expensive and I didn’t need the entire thing, that’s why I’ve come home late. I copied the necessary page and-” 

“Wakatoshi-san, that smell… Is something burning?”

Looking at Tsutomu, Wakatoshi creates enough space for his younger love to look over his shoulder. The widening eyes do not surprise him; it’s a common sight whenever people see he’s cooking. 

Then Tsutomu jumps up and out of his embrace, leaving the plaid behind. Dashing to the kitchen area, he curses and hisses when he takes the chopping board off the rice pan. Their last rice cooker exploded when Wakatoshi messed with the controls, and Tsutomu has been cooking rice for the past week. Wakatoshi stands up to check on his food, only to see a half-burned, half-molted chopping board mixing into his rice. 

“Ah, plastic burns. I forgot.”

Tsutomu, hasty and silent, takes a spoon and gathers the turquoise blue remains of the board out of the rice, then sighs. 

“We can’t eat this. I can smell past the plastic. Too much salt and… kurkuma?” Tsutomu doesn’t look at Wakatoshi, who has no time to explain as the next problem created by his lack of skill surfaces. Tsutomu takes the glass lid off the new frying pan, revealing brown-ish burned kale. Looking over Tsutomu’s shoulder, Wakatoshi can see the thyme, the only green spots left on top of the vegetables. 

“You think it’s edible?” He asks, not ever having seen greens burned this much.

“For the starving, maybe.” Tsutomu says truthfully, a single kale leaf hanging between his thumb and index finger. Wakatoshi stops him from eating it, and reaches for the phone instead. 

“I’ll ask Semi if he can make the recipe instead. It’s supposed to help the muscles, especially those connecting to-” Wakatoshi stops speaking when he sees Tsutomu reaching for the page he copied in the afternoon. He’s reading it for himself, as much as he can understand of the olden eagle language. Without any living winged-relatives, Tsutomu’s ability to speak or understand Wakatoshi’s father’s tongue is limited. 

“Does this even work for… someone like me?” Tsutomu’s whispers had the ability to be louder, but this one uttering came as silent as they should. “I’m only half this, half that.”

 _”Love is a secret ingredient, so add it without measuring!”_ The lady in the TV calls. Reon said almost the same thing. Wakatoshi couldn’t pronounce the Japanese word for the life of him. Whenever he said ‘ai’, it changed to _’sheratush’_ without his head meaning to. He had to explain the eagle word for love the first time he accepted Tsutomu’s feelings, but Wakatoshi would still embarrassing when it appeared in his otherwise flawless spoken sentences.

“Food made with- Reon said it would work. The nutrients aren’t aggressive, and offer only what’s required to the strengthening process. Potassium for the muscles, and lots of milk for the bone structure.” Wakatoshi explains, his finger pointing to the page. He didn’t copy the drawing from the book, and instead points to a word Tsutomu may not know. “The body won’t fight what’s good for it. It’s not self-destructive, even for those born between worlds.” 

Behind the outside window, Wakatoshi hears a beak knocking on the glass. He steps to the curtains and unveils the creature waiting. It’s Satori’s and Eita’s pet, Rara. Named by Satori for the sound it makes, the sea eagle requests a look inside. Eita must have had no faith in his cooking, as usual. Sliding the glass door open, Wakatoshi lets her enter and fly into the kitchen.

When he turns around, he finds Rara perching on Tsutomu’s shoulder. She peers into the mess of yet another failed cooking attempt, then back at Wakatoshi. The stare is long, and Wakatoshi can feel Eita’s judgement in her eyes. The deep barking cry confirms this, and Wakatoshi returns to take the page he copied out of Tsutomu’s fingers. 

“Would you mind bringing this to Semi?” Wakatoshi asks the eagle, and Rara clasps her beak, holding out her claw. Fastening the recipe round her leg, Rara wastes no time in niceties and flies out of their house in speed. Once she’s gone, Wakatoshi returns his gaze to Tsutomu, finding him in shivers and his lips quivering. Feeling bad for his unableness to produce dinner, Wakatoshi does the only thing he knows how to do in these kind of situations. His arms loop around Tsutomu once again, and he waits for him to melt against his chest. 

Nestling his chin on top of Tsutomu’s crown, Wakatoshi apologizes, not thinking about the food in the least.

“You’ll fly again, Tsutomu. It takes time.” He murmurs into the silky black hair, accepting the man below shaking against him and hiding his tears. This recipe, along other helpful matters, would make any son of the sky well again within a month. But any sort of medicine worked different on those who were only part eagle, part something else. Reon had explained this to Tsutomu, when Wakatoshi couldn’t. 

Waiting for Tsutomu’s feet to step on his, Wakatoshi can’t do anything else but hold him and kiss the top of his head. When the soles of Tsutomu’s feet slide over his toes and firmly on top of his feet, Wakatoshi walks them back into the living area, and carefully sits them both down. Tsutomu’s face hides in his neck, and he’s quick to recover the plaid and pull it around him. Rara is the fastest flying familiar he’s seen, and he’s sure Eita and Satori will cook the food Wakatoshi was unable to produce. 

“...I feel so broken.” Tsutomu utters between sobs, and Wakatoshi has to hold back his wings from spreading out and engulf Tsutomu in their warmth. It would be disrespectful and insensitive, or so Reon told him. Instead, he has to do with these human arms as much as he can, strengthening his embrace and tightening Tsutomu against him.

“Your wings are.” He says without holding back, as the truth may hurt less than a lie. “The rest of you functions just fine. Focus on that.”

They didn’t move until Rara returned. Not only did she bring a box of the warm meal, she also stretches out her leg holding an attached letter. Wakatoshi ignored the note, unpacking the meal and unwilling to get up for the chopsticks. Tsutomu reads the note, too curious not to. Then he says his thanks to Rara, his eagle language having only the slightest accents. Rara appears not to care, her eyes closing when Tsutomu pets her head. 

“Tendou-san wants me to take a picture of today’s chaos and Semi-san wonders why you’re still attempting to do things you’re not made for without the blessing of the gods.” Tsutomu’s voice, to Wakatoshi’s happiness, sounds a lot more amused and upbeat. Unsmiling, he fits his hand under Tsutomu’s chin, making his head turn and accept a kiss on top of his lips. When Wakatoshi speaks, he’s fully aware of the warmth of his breath moistening Tsutomu’s open mouth.

“If I stop trying, it’s a permanent failure. I haven’t lost hope in myself, same as I haven’t lost hope in your rehabilitation, Tsutomu.” Wakatoshi lets his hand fall on Tsutomu’s lap, about to get up, when Tsutomu turns around and tackles him. Rara flies away, her sounds silent when Tsutomu’s tongue slips past Wakatoshi’s iron-lipped defenses. He accepts the unruly and wild kiss, allowing his hands at last to touch below Tsutomu’s shoulders, caressing the twin scars where Tsutomu’s broken wings have to hide out until recovery.

Tsutomu doesn’t straddle him this time, as he’s usually prone to do. The rumble of his stomach echoes between their bodies. Wakatoshi sets him aside, their lips still attached, and its hard to part but he must. Tsutomu’s warm, inviting mouth groans when their lips stop brushing against each other.

“The food. You have to eat your regular meals.” He somehow manages to make his legs stand up and go to the kitchen. Wakatoshi wills the basic wants of his flesh emanating from his core, and leaves dirtier thoughts behind for now. Tsutomu’s face looks warmer, his cheeks bright. A total change from when he woke up white as a sheet. Glad that he’s some sort of help as what Satori called ‘a stunted boyfriend’, Wakatoshi comes back guarded with chopsticks, two glasses, and milk tea.

Sitting behind Tsutomu again, he makes sure that their glued back-to-chest. His aunt has told him that the heat of one’s heart can transcend to the spine of one’s lover, and that love has a special kind of healing powers unwritten and unchallenged. When Tsutomu relaxes into Wakatoshi, the latter can finally fold one arm around his stomach, and they eat in a comfortable silence.

_”And now, dessert!”_

“Oh, that looks good. Maybe I should attempt-”

“Wakatoshi-san, please. Leave the kitchen in my care. I don’t want to send Tendou-san a picture of our apartment burned to nothing.”

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

Late at night, feeling better and satisfied both in kisses and in food, Tsutomu fell asleep on his stomach. His ‘just five minutes’ after dinner tended to extend to a full blown hour. Exhaling deeply through the nose, Wakatoshi sets to work. He gathers two futons, placing the rolls aside and about to move Tsutomu’s sleeping figure out of the way. His fingers, resting at Tsutomu’s side, hesitate once more. Looking up at the night sky, he closes his eyes and remembers words long forgotten by his mother’s side of the family, but remembered through the blood brothers his father made. 

Lifting the hem of Tsutomu’s shirt, Wakatoshi exposes his back, all the way to where the scars criss-cross Tsutomu’s shoulder blades. Using the index finger on his left hand, he draws a line, three times. For some it was the numeral eight, for others, it defined the infinity symbol. But for their kind, the line meant strong wings of freedom. The wings of never-landing eagles, of Wakatoshi’s ancestors flying the eternal flight in the afterlife, watching over them from the clouds.

He draws the line three more times for good measure, whispering the words almost inaudible. Bowing low over Tsutomu’s back, closing his eyes, Wakatoshi kisses where his finger had held the contact.

“By the laws of nature and the limitless sky, please hear my prayer. Take responsibility of this your son, who’ve you adopted into your ranks. Allow this brother of others to return to your lands, and to join me once more in the skies we like to call our home. I guarantee for his worthiness, proven by his first flight, made stronger by his fall and his surviving instinct. Please aid him and me to help his wings re-growth, and bury your dislike of the weak. By the virtues of our kind, answer my prayer.” 

Eyes fluttering open, Wakatoshi’s fingers splay on the warm back, his palm flat against one of the scarring skin. He remembers his father’s touch on top of his head, and his mother’s kiss on his brow. Love, like Reon and his aunt had told him, had possibilities and strengths of its own, far beyond the reach of modern medicine or their old rituals. 

Below his hand, he feels a response; feathers tickling back, their whiteness shining through the skin when the line he drew flickers in and out of existence. Tsutomu sighs, and Wakatoshi goes back to futons to make their nest.

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

“Alright.” Tsutomu smiles. Fitting the lunchbox ribbons about the bento, he chose a bright coloured one with a feather pattern for Wakatoshi, who’s lying under his futon still. When Tsutomu glances towards him, he sees the head move, and fingers rubbing sleepy eyes. For a second Tsutomu feels bad for waking him, but then Wakatoshi walks over to where he stands in the kitchen, and drapes himself over Tsutomu’s back.

He has no idea where Wakatoshi’s newfound obsession for his back came from, but there’s little to say when his press sensually at the top of the spine. Tsutomu’s eyes shut. His head leaning forward, he breathes heavy, letting the wet tongue kiss the nape of his neck. Wakatoshi’s nose touches his hair, inhaling ever so lightly. Given that Tsutomu has a few minutes to spare, he stands still and has his neck kissed, enjoying all the sounds Wakatoshi’s mouth creates against his warming skin. His arms loop around Tsutomu’s waist, keeping him as close as yesterday night.

Biting half his bottom lip, Tsutomu withholds a moan from coming out. They don’t have that much time to spare. He wants to be cool and say ‘here’s your bento, have a good day’ and leave, but what comes out is much more needy. 

“Could you say it..?”

Wakatoshi’s tongue stills flat on his neck, then follows a row of butterfly kisses all towards Tsutomu’s ear. He has his eyes closed still, not wanting to wake from this beautiful dream. There’s quite a few words in the eagle language Tsutomu can’t pronounce yet, and parts of them are in the sentence Wakatoshi utters. He’s been trying so hard to be able to say it back, and made Wakatoshi speak them often so he could learn. This however, was for his own benefit.

_”I love you.”_

Filled to the brim with happiness and good vibes, Tsutomu takes his own bento and pushes backward. Wakatoshi allows him to move on his own, but won’t leave his neck alone. He kisses it all the way to the door, when Tsutomu laughs and has to entangle Wakatoshi’s hands from his front. About to open the door, Tsutomu’s hand freezes when he hears another set of words, of which most he doesn’t know nor understand. He remembers them, somehow. 

Yesterday when he was asleep, he woke from a certain kind of warmth protruding his spine. It felt so hot and comfortable that he could have slept through, if he hadn’t heard Wakatoshi’s voice. The words he hears now near his ear seem alike, but the sentences are a lot shorter.

“What did you say?” Tsutomu turns his head, watching Wakatoshi open his eyes. Shaking his head, Wakatoshi murmurs.

“Have a nice day.” Before there’s any protest, Wakatoshi kisses him on the mouth, a soft peck in which he inhales deeply, having Tsutomu’s knees weak even from this little. Wakatoshi opens the door for him, a small sound popping up between their mouths when they part. 

Tsutomu breathes out after the kiss. “Yeah, you too, Wakatoshi-san!” 

 

*

 

*

 

*

 

Closing the door, Wakatoshi sighs to himself. He should have said the shortened version of yesterday’s prayer less loud, but it had to be spoken for the gods to hear and make its effect work. Safety and prosperity was all he wished upon Tsutomu, even in everyday life. Sighing, he’s about to turn and make himself ready for the day, when a glinster catches his eye.

Behind the door he just closed lies a single white feather, to small to be his own. Bending his knees he picks it up, squatting still when he smells the scent. Smiling, he inhales once more, able to find the notes of hard work, free falls of reckless abandon and skill, and can practically hear the laughter of the boy he dearly loves. 

He puts the feather on his bento, and enters the bathroom.

**Author's Note:**

> This pair means the world to me ;v; If you love too, please talk to me @ [tumblr](http://fish-wifey.tumblr.com/) or @ [twitter~](https://twitter.com/fukurouDAMN) I have messages enabled and would love to find other enthusiasts ;v;


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